Peregrine Page 9

  “Opium…here?” Dagan asked, surprised.

  The man nodded but didn’t speak.

  Damn, I wish that I had known, Dagan thought. Caleb could have used it on Bart. Maybe he’d get some for Caleb after…after his business was done. He ordered another mug then stared at the girl. It wasn’t long before she gazed back and held his gaze, almost as if longing, wishing for him to take her away.

  Noticing Dagan’s stare, it didn’t take long for the bodyguard to speak out. Dagan ignored him. The man scrubbed the legs of his chair on the rough plank flooring as he pushed the chair back and stood up. Dagan still kept his gaze on the girl as the giant man picked up the broad sword and flicked his wrist on one hand and slapped the palm of his other hand with the blade. Dagan still held the girl’s gaze. The big man was used to scaring people and was surprised when Dagan didn’t flee as he approached.

  Finally, he towered over Dagan and leaned forward to get in his face as he spoke. It was a mistake…the giant’s last mistake. Dagan’s hand had been resting on his hip. When the man leaned forward to speak, Dagan’s hand shot out like a snake striking its prey. His aim was true. The hidden dagger entered just below the Adam’s apple and, when it hit bone, Dagan sliced both ways, severing the spine. The man dropped to the tobacco and dirt stained floor, staring at the smoky ceiling for a few seconds before the light dimmed forever, and he could see no more.

  Dagan quickly rushed to the stairs and took hold of the girl’s hand and started toward the door, pausing only long enough to cut away a section of the dead man’s coat. He then cut a slice midway through the coat to make a poncho of sorts to cover the girl.

  He turned to the man at the bar. “Whatever is in his pockets is yours. I’d search quickly. Tell the captain I will be in touch.”

  Holding the girl’s hand Dagan guided her up the steps and onto the streets. Once away from the place, he paused to think. He’d acted on impulse. An idea had come to mind and he’d taken advantage of it. Now he had to hide the girl, but where? Jepson! He’d take her to Pegasus. Ducking into an alley, Dagan whispered to the girl he’d take care of her and she wouldn’t have to go back.

  “I trust you,” the girl replied.

  “What’s your name?” Dagan asked realizing he hadn’t inquired.

  “Ariel.”

  “That’s a pretty name. Now I’m gonna find a place to hide you till I can get you something to wear. I don’t want you to be scared.”

  “I won’t be.”

  No, I don’t think you will, Dagan thought, not after what you’ve been through. Walking down the alley, Dagan found a woodshed still standing where a house had burned down.

  “Stay here till I get back. I should be back soon, but even if I’m not, you stay here at least for a day. Then go across the river to General Manning’s house. But don’t go until its dark and wait a full day.”

  Walking down the street, Dagan removed his hat and tossed it over a fence. It didn’t change his appearance much but very few people knew what he looked like anyway. Besides they’d never expect him back down near the waterfront. Lighting his pipe Dagan made his way back to a shop that sold clothes for sailors. He was haggling with the shop’s owner for a set of used sailors slops when the captain and a group of men passed by with the bar man in tow. Dagan and the bar man’s eyes met but the man never blinked and the group kept going.

  The shop owner did comment, “A dangerous group. Out for blood I’d say.”

  “Aye,” Dagan replied. “Glad it is not mine.”

  * * *

  Dagan turned as Ariel removed her poncho and scanty clothing. She had thought nothing of removing her clothes in front of him. Something they’ll have to teach her not to do, Dagan thought. He used a small length of twine to tie the waist of the slops. He’d stopped and retrieved his hat. He now pulled the girl’s hair back and pulled the hat down low. At first glance she looked like a ship’s boy…at first glance, but it was hard to hide the way her breasts stuck out. Dagan reached down and picked up her old clothing. He cut a piece out of the linen shift. He held up her shirt and had the girl wrap it around her chest then tied it in the back. He then looked again. That was better…somewhat. Some things you just couldn’t hide. Well, say what you want, that damnable captain knew women. This girl if given the time would make some man happy. She was also the reason duels were fought.

  Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Dagan asked, “Are you ready?”

  “If you are,” Ariel said.

  “Well let us be at it then,” he said.

  Dagan found a boat easy enough and used it to row across the river and back towards the ships. He was challenged by the guard boat and then by the midshipman on Pegasus.

  “Captain, Captain.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Bucklin, sir.”

  “I know damn well who it is,” Jepson snarled. “What do you want?”

  “It’s…it’s Mr. Dagan, sir. He requests a private conversation.”

  “Dagan?”

  “Aye, sir, Dagan.”

  “Well show him in,” Jepson said through a yawn.

  “You might want to put on some clothes, sir. He has someone with him.”

  “Yes well...” another yawn. “Give me five minutes then show Dagan and his visitor in.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “Bucklin.”

  “Yes sir, Captain.”

  “Find a damn candle and light it before you go.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Humph, Jep thought, stifling another yawn. What the devil does Dagan want at this hour?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dagan awoke at first light. Years of getting up in the predawn hours made it a hard habit to break, regardless of how late he was up. Knowing he had no duties that needed his attention, Dagan made himself lie in his hammock and think. To take stock of his actions…and actions still left to be taken.

  He’d involved Jepson by taking the girl…young woman, to his ship last evening. After his explanation of events, Jepson didn’t seem put out at all. For the admiral and Gabe’s sake he hadn’t brought her to Peregrine. That way, even if asked, they could truthfully say they had no knowledge of the girl or the events surrounding her abduction. Jepson would not lie if asked, but the probability was he wouldn’t be.

  Now, how to get Witzenfeld? He would arrange a meeting in which he’d use the girl as bait. As he lay in his hammock, he thought of all the burned out buildings and homes and a plan was decided on. However, he’d need help. Every way he looked at it he’d have to have someone who could move as silently, and if need be as deadly, as a cobra. He could only think of one person: Kawliga. They had travelled and fought together in the past so Dagan knew his abilities. All he had to do was scout out the locations he’d use and, of course, speak to Kawliga. He could hear feet moving on deck and decided to go topside. Today, Dagan kept thinking as he dressed, it has to be today. In all likelihood they’d sail on the morrow.

  Thinking of this made Dagan curse to himself. Today was the last time for some time he’d get to spend with Betsy. Then another thought crossed his mind. It might be his last day on earth. Damn Witzenfeld! Damn this war!

  * * *

  After coffee and a hurried breakfast of cheese and one of Nesbit’s pastries, Dagan told Gabe he was going ashore and would be late returning. A pastry was halfway to Gabe’s mouth when he stopped it in mid-air. He was about to speak but the words were left unspoken as Dagan looked eye to eye with him. The boy I swore to protect is a man now, Dagan realized.

  “There is a letter in my chest if …” Dagan paused, “if needed.”

  Gabe suddenly felt his eyes moisten as the extent of Dagan’s words struck home. He knew he was going to deal with Witzenfeld. “Have a care uncle,” Gabe muttered, his voice trembling.

  “Aye, that I will.” As he passed Gabe on the way out Dagan quickly grabbed his nephew and bit his ear.

  “Ohhh! You …” Gabe didn’t finish as Dagan was gone.

&n
bsp; Once ashore Dagan scouted out the places he felt would serve his purpose. Though he’d tell Witzenfeld to come alone, Dagan knew he’d bring reinforcements. The trick was to separate the rendezvous in a way in which those reinforcements could be neutralized. After carefully selecting his choices, Dagan got a boatman to take him across the river.

  After landing on the other side of the river, Dagan searched and soon found the woodshed he’d hid Ariel the previous evening. Once there, he found what he was looking for…part of the flimsy material she’d been wearing the previous evening. This would show his note was bona fide. Looking at the sun, Dagan decided that by the time he got back across the river, it would be a respectable time to call on Betsy…and talk with Kawliga.

  * * *

  The day seemed to pass all too quickly. It was almost 9 p.m. General Manning had invited Lord Anthony, Sir Victor, and Gabe to dine their last evening in port. Markham had already accepted another invitation and Jepson feigned illness. Dagan was thankful. Lord Anthony didn’t take notice, feeling Jepson would feel out of place. Dagan knew differently.

  Over brandy and cigars, Manning brought up the subject of Witzenfeld. “A damnable, arrogant individual he is. He refused to see me. Oh, his lieutenant said he was not available, but I was sure he was. I did find out the Tidewater Witch was once the Norfolk Bell. The owner, a Marlowe Prescott, had her built for the China trade till the war came along. She was then fitted out as a privateer after he talked with the man Witzenfeld. It seems that Witzenfeld was a gambler and a rogue who couldn’t pay his debts, and killed the man who came to demand payment. He was in the East India Company and had to flee from a court martial. His brother was a Royal Navy lieutenant and was somehow lost at sea. He still has a few family members alive in England but, overall, he has no love for the British.”

  “You learned all of this today?” Anthony asked, incredulous.

  “Yes.”

  “If I’m not out of line, may I ask how?”

  “It appears one of Prescott’s clerks is a man of many talents. He frequently does…shall we say, checks on a man before Marlowe Prescott turns him loose on one of his ships. The problem is, Marlowe doesn’t pay the man enough to keep his mouth shut.”

  “What about the Drake’s crew?” Anthony inquired.

  “The ship’s mate wouldn’t say, but I talked with Prescott. He is willing to release the crew…those that haven’t agreed to sign on with him, for one pound per man.”

  Sir Victor couldn’t believe his ears. “That’s twenty shillings per man.”

  “Yes,” Manning agreed. “He wanted a guinea a man and that would have been twenty-one shillings per man. The way I see it is, I’ve saved you ten pounds at least.”

  “Aye,” Sir Victor agreed reluctantly.

  “General,” Anthony said, using Manning’s official title. “I think you should know it was my ship on which Witzenfeld’s brother was lost.”

  A short narrative followed. At the end, Manning took a sip of his brandy then replied, “It’s a good thing I dealt with Prescott then, isn’t it? Otherwise, you’d never have gotten your seamen back.”

  * * *

  Dagan and Betsy sat on the porch drinking tea and picking over their dessert.

  “Do you know when you’ll be back?” Betsy asked.

  “No,” Dagan admitted.

  “Do you love me, Dagan?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then walk with me.”

  Taking Dagan’s hand, Betsy led him down the street then took a path between two houses. In the backyard of the house on the left, a gazebo was dimly lit and the smell of citronella lingered in the air. A string held up a mosquito net. As the two ducked under the net, Betsy tugged gently on the string and the net fell. Turning to Dagan, Betsy pulled him close and their lips met.

  After a long passionate kiss, Dagan asked, “Are you not concerned we’ll be discovered?”

  To answer, Betsy sat down on a padded bench. She tugged on another string. This time it was not the net that fell. Dagan stood speechless.

  “Come here,” Betsy barely whispered as she leaned over and blew out the nearest lamp.

  After a time, Dagan lay on his side with Betsy pulled close to him. Both, spent from their passion, watched the flicker that the flame made as it jumped back and forth…casting tiny shadows on the illuminated whitewash.

  “I will always be fond of citronella,” Dagan said.

  “You better be fond of me for thinking of it,” Betsy replied. As she spoke, she went to turn and almost fell off the narrow bench.

  Dagan grabbed her quickly and pulled her on top of him. “I love you,” he said as he looked into her eyes. Tears were building up and he felt one drop on his chest. “You could come with me.”

  “Oh, I want to Dagan, but it would ruin the general. Besides, everyone is gone now. I’m the only one left to care for him. You will come back won’t you, Dagan?”

  “Aye, every chance I get.”

  “Then, I’ll be here and after the war I’ll make you the best wife you could ever hope for.”

  “You are already more than I ever hoped for,” Dagan whispered as they kissed and came together again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dagan found a sailor loitering outside the Rathskeller. He pressed a guinea into the man’s hand then said, “Deliver this note to Captain Witzenfeld. To Captain Witzenfeld…you understand?”

  “Course I does,” the sailor slurred. “And I recognize this cloth, I does. I’ll deliver this note but iffen you don’t want yew gullet slit, I’d be gone by the time I goes into the Skeller.”

  “Just deliver the note,” Dagan hissed.

  “Oh I wills, Gov’ner, I just hate to think you’d throw your life away so careless like.”

  Dagan crossed the street and stood in the shadows watching the entrance to the Skeller. It wasn’t long before a man in a captain’s coat, long shaggy hair, and a red beard rushed into the street. So this is Captain Witzenfeld, Dagan thought to himself. The hapless sailor was being dragged along roughly by two of Witzenfeld’s henchmen.

  “He took off, Cap’n. I told yew that. He said to give you the cloth and the note and you’d give me a guinea.”

  Dagan smiled in spite of the danger. Bloody lout, he thought, trying to get paid for what I already paid him to do, but it worked.

  “Smith, you worthless sod, I ought to skin you alive,” the captain bellowed but he cast down a handful of coins that Smith, who dropped to his knees, started to pick up.

  The note had directed Witzenfeld to the burned out building that Dagan and Ariel had hid behind the previous night. There, another note directed him to a location a mile beyond. Once he reached that location, another note directed him back to the original location. The reason for the multiple locations was to find out who would follow the captain.

  Dagan’s note had stated to come alone and to bring one hundred pounds or the girl would die. He was sure Witzenfeld would not bring the ransom and he was just as sure he would not come alone. To have his woman stolen would infuriate Witzenfeld. To be led back and forth in such a manner would just increase his anger. Mad men make mistakes.

  It was almost midnight when Kawliga let Dagan know someone was coming. It didn’t take long for Dagan to make out the shadow of a horse and its rider. Pausing, the rider looked around listening. The horse pawed at the damp grass and stretched its neck when the rider didn’t slacken the reins. From his vantage place, Dagan could see a saddle pistol as well as the sword and the pistol tucked into the rider’s belt. Dagan didn’t see a sack that would hold the ransom. Damn.

  “Ariel,” the man called, and then inched the horse forward.

  A gentle breeze caused the note to flutter which caught the man’s eye. Dismounting, Witzenfeld walked over and snatched the note from where it was tucked. Reading the note, he cursed. He then looked around and found a small charred stick that he used to write the words “meet me,” and drew an arrow pointing to the other side where the dire
ctions were scribbled.

  It was then Dagan considered a flaw in his plan. What if the followers couldn’t read? What if Witzenfeld waited on them? Well, no matter, he’d still pick them off if he could…a big if.

  Witzenfeld was mounting his horse when Kawliga let him know others were coming. After a moment, Kawliga made the sign for two. So, he’s only bringing two is he? Must be sure of himself. As Dagan moved to position himself so that he and Kawliga would have the men in their crossfire, the Indian made a sound like an owl. When Dagan looked Kawliga held up three fingers. Is it three men or three more men? Dagan wondered. He didn’t have long to find out.

  “Bloody ’ell, what’s this? Nobody is around.”

  “Hush you sod. Look about, but be quiet like.”

  As the first man looked about, a third man moved out of the trees. Swish…ahh. Dagan didn’t take time to look at the man who had an arrow protruding from his neck. He took his knife and gave it a throw, hitting his man square in the chest. Another swish and the last man cried out. Dagan had been right in his choice of partners; Kawliga had silently dispatched two men without there ever being any hint of danger. His throw was accurate but compared to Kawliga’s bow and arrow it was nothing. It was said many of the Colonials used such tactics on the British infantry. This had the British generals crying foul. Cry what they may, Dagan decided, the results were obvious. Look who was winning the war. Not the men marching in formation. It may work in Europe, Dagan thought, but never in this wild land where the only rule to fighting was to win.

  Dagan and Kawliga removed the arrows and knife from the dead men then dragged their bodies out of sight. The men would be found, but by then, they would be long gone. Looking up at the sky, Dagan could see the clouds moving in the moonlight. The clouds were heavy and dark and were blotting out the stars. Possibly a blow later, he thought.

  It wasn’t long before the hooves of a horse could be heard. This time the horse was running, its rider being very impatient. Dagan had told Kawliga he would face Witzenfeld; it was a matter of honour. Something the Indian understood.